


Nothing Satisfies Me But Your Soul

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: Riddlebird Week 2018 [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys Kissing, Day Four: Crossover/AU, Death, Fallen Angels, Fate & Destiny, M/M, References to Supernatural (TV), Riddlebird Week, Season/Series 01, Seduction, Soul Bond, Soul Sex, Supernatural Elements, There's A Tag For That, This is very Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot was a mask, a good one at that. Death was proud to wear him, to walk the streets as any other human, basking in the filth and bitterness that was their planet.But when he meets a fallen angel in the middle of a police precinct, everything could change.Riddlebird Week, Day Four: Crossover/AU





	Nothing Satisfies Me But Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo....  
> This might be a strange one. I don't know if it's a crossover, but it's definitely AU. I basically wrote this because I can totally see Oswald as a younger version of [Death](http://supernatural.wikia.com/wiki/Death) from Supernatural. And then things... got away from me? I don't know. Anyway, it was still fun to write and the premise certainly is intriguing. I hope y'all like it?

Oswald Cobblepot was a mask, a good one at that. Death was proud to wear him, to walk the streets as any other human, basking in the filth and bitterness that was their planet. He even referred to himself as Oswald, insisting that his reapers call upon him by that name. And should a stray demon come stumbling idiotically along his path, he made them call him Oswald as well, before he destroyed them in a puff of black smoke.

Oswald wasn’t his first mask, and certainly not the prettiest, but it was his favourite. Death could still remember the day he’d found him. Oswald had been young, not older than twenty-two when he’d begged Death to save his mother. He didn’t beg God, nor the angels, he hadn’t even summoned a demon. He’d begged _Death_.

“You have called me here,” he’d said by way of greeting, tapping his long cane menacingly. “Why?”

“I-it’s you!” Oswald’s eyes had lit up with a smile as he stared disbelievingly. “Y-you’re really d-death?”

“Yes,” Death had purred, “Now, go on, child.”

“M-my mother. I-I’m afraid she’s sick, and the doctors say there is nothing I can do,” Oswald had explained, gaze cast down to the dirt that littered the floor.

“Yes, but why did you call _me_?” Death had asked, tapping his cane again. “Why not God, or Raphael, or another angel?”

“O-oh,” Oswald had blinked in momentary confusion before answering, “p-people say that nothing is sure in life. Except… Except you. Death will always come.”

“They are right,” Death had informed him.

“So, will you help me? I swear I’ll give anything, even my soul, just whatever it takes,” Oswald had pleaded. Death had examined him, head to toe. Seemingly, this human was weak and worn, and yet, there was a spark in his eyes, a tightness in his lips, like he was capable of something great.

“I like you, Oswald Cobblepot,” Death had mused aloud. “I think I will help you, if you’ll help me first?”

“O-of course,” Oswald had nodded eagerly, “but, sir, how-how did you know my name?”

“I know the name of each and every man that has ever lived,” Death had answered truthfully. “Now, I will save your mother. But you must give your body in return.”

“W-what?” Oswald had stuttered out.

“This vessel,” Death had pulled at the vessel’s skin disparagingly, “is old and useless. It will wither away soon, I’m afraid.”

“B-but my mother,” Oswald had protested.

“Your mother will live for centuries should you say yes to me, with her son by her side,” Death had informed him. “She will see you every day, and I will allow you one day a year to speak to her, alone. It would be of your own choosing,” Death had tilted his head, “do we have a deal?”

And, eventually, Oswald had responded; “Yes.”

That had been many years ago, in a different country, on another continent. They had moved after the Titanic shipwreck, Death, now Oswald, explaining to Gertrude that such an event required his presence should his reapers fail to perform their task.

Oswald had flown from city to city, never finding his place, until the day he’d found Gotham. It was a place of criminals, the heartless and mindless converging to die together, and he’d loved it. Crime became his new passion, a thrill that helped him escape the coldness of his own dark touch, slicing a man’s throat before reaping them himself.

And, of course, people had taken notice, one Miss Fish Mooney in particular. She had welcomed him into her sanction, dubbing him as her ‘umbrella boy’, always two steps behind.

Oswald had smirked, knowing that with a touch he could destroy that woman. Still, he allowed her to live. She didn’t know how lucky she was.

Which was why Oswald wasn’t surprised when he found himself being beaten to a pulp with one of Fish’s chairs.

He put on the appearance of weakness, snivelling and curling into himself like a young boy. He could have killed her in an instant, but he waited instead. There was a time and place for everyone, and he knew that this wasn’t it. When the beating stopped and he was dragged away, he did not seeth, didn’t claw his eyes out in rage. No, he bit his tongue, folded his hands in front of him, and let the ease of contentment wash over him.

“Cobblepot, is it?” Ah, Oswald knew that voice, the voice of a man who believes he has escaped Oswald’s clutches, but that is simply because he spent all his time looking behind him, never realizing that Death would come for him one-day head-on. “Dead men are honest men, I find. What can you tell me before you go.”

Oswald chuckled, for that he knew for certain. But, despite his shortcomings, Oswald respected this man. So, he got to his feet, shivering and snivelling like a broken toy as he parroted simple words of honour and privilege.

“Indeed, I can tell a secret of great value to you, if you grant me one last request,” Oswald answered.

“Which is what?” Falcone snapped.

“Give the job of killing me to James Gordon.”

“Why him?” Falcone asked.

Why? Because Oswald knew the name of every man who’d ever lived, but he also knew an untainted soul when he saw one. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have his fate decided by a righteous man, before his blue blood eventually turned red and dark and all semblance of purity was lost. 

“He’s the only man under your sway who has a conscious,” Oswald explained. “The only one who might be persuaded to spare my life.”

“Why would I agree to that? I want you dead. You’re a snitch.” Ah, of course. ‘To tell the truth, Oswald had merely been following fates orders, instigating the further inquiry into the Wayne murders the way she’d commanded. He couldn’t reveal who’d killed them, but he could coerce people into trying to find out for themselves. One can’t cheat Death, but the reverse was quite possible, indeed.

“If you agree, and Gordon doesn’t kill me, then I will become _your_ snitch,” Oswald told him emphatically. “For life. I will come back to Gotham under a different name, and I will work my way into the Maroni family, and I will snitch for you.”

And so Falcone agreed, and Oswald’s plan was set in motion.

But not before waiting for a gunshot, not before listening to it ring through the air and smiling, because he _knew_ Gordon would never pull the trigger.

That was precisely why Oswald was not a righteous man, and never would be. He had the sense to take a life when the world commanded it. He would never have reaped Martha and Thomas Wayne otherwise.

♠ ♠ ♠

Working into the Maroni family was just as easy as Oswald had suspected it would be. He often wondered if any of the humans around him realized how painfully easy they were to manipulate. Oswald highly suspected they didn’t have a clue.

“Oswald!”

Oswald turned, immediately frowning before he recognized the source of the voice.

“Well, if it isn’t Fate herself, cruel twist and all,” Oswald quipped with a smirk.

“It’s ‘Cat’,” she sniffed, sauntering closer.

“Well, of course, Miss Kyle,” Oswald bowled mockingly, delighting in the girl’s answering scowl. “How might I help you?”

“They’re trying to lock up James Gordon,” Cat replied, crossing her arms.

“Oh?” Oswald raised his eyebrows, interest piquing. “And what would you have me do about it?”

“They’re arresting him for your murder.”

Oswald laughed, hand clenching down on his cane to keep himself steady. 

“One must enjoy the simple things in life,” Oswald said by way of an answer to Cat’s questioning frown. “Of course I’d be happy to help you out. Gordon is a righteous man, after all.”

“Yeah,” Cat agreed. “It’s kinda gross.”

Oswald snorted. “Off I go, then.”

♠ ♠ ♠

“...Well, they’re GCPD, so the MCU’s got a problem.” Oswald smiled. It seemed he’d arrived just on time.

“Yeah, you got a problem, you got a real big problem, you-”

Everything stopped as Oswald strode into the room, all eyes turning in the space of seconds. It roared in his gut, the deep satisfaction of rendering an entire building silent by sheer presence alone. That truly was the power of Death.

“Hello,” Oswald chuckled, finding Bullock and Gordon immediately, Gordon restrained with his hands behind his back, expression of immense relief while Bullock simply stood there, shocked. “I am Oswald Cobblepot.”

Two things happened at once; Bullock turned to Jim, with an outraged cry, Gordon’s attempts at reasoning with him failing immediately.

And secondly, Oswald took the opportunity to scan the faces and souls of the many others in the precinct. He stopped short, however, when he came face to face with a creature he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

A fallen angel. Just standing there, watching. He looked shocked and confused, expression mirroring many of the others around the room, but the spark of recognition in his eyes told Oswald that he _knew_ , that he saw the truth for what it was.

The officers around them were too busy to notice Oswald stepping up to the man, smirk curling on his face. He looked the angel up and down unabashedly, admiring the curve of his broken wings before moving his gaze to the man’s vessel.

“I see leaving heaven didn’t stop you from wearing grey,” Oswald noted, tilting his head.

“D-Death?” the angel gasped, watching him with wide eyes. 

“It’s Oswald,” he snapped, “Cobblepot.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, sorry,” the angel babbled. Was that reverence or terror in his eyes, Oswald wondered. Ed wouldn’t be the first being to run screaming from his image, the cold darkness of his true-self swallowing light like the abyss from whence he’d been born.

“Tell me, Azazel,” Oswald continued, the name appearing before his eyes as he scanned the fallen one once more. “How have you been enjoying your time on Earth?”

“It’s Ed, now, actually. Edward Nygma,” Ed clarified, pushing his glasses up his nose with an index finger. “Earth is… great. May I ask… what, sir, are you doing here?”

“Fate wanted me to intervene,” Oswald answered with a cool smile and shrug. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.” Ed nodded.

“You seem nervous, Edward,” Oswald pointed out. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-no, sir,” Ed denied.

“Must I remind you that I am in no way affiliated with either God or Lucifer. My reapers work for me, and while Fate does favours for me and vice-versa, neither of us are each other’s boss,” Oswald pointed out astutely. “So, in short,” Oswald winked, “I don’t judge.”

Ed smiled, clearly relieved. “Thank you, sir, that means a lot. Not many are so… accommodating.”

“What a shame,” Oswald purred. It was fun to tease. It was so rare to find another being from the supernatural realm in Gotham, especially one who showed him any respect. Cat, with her incessant showing up, whenever she pleased, certainly didn’t fall into that category.

“Nygma!” Someone shouted, breaking them from their warm bubble of conversation. “Get your ass over here right now!”

“Yes, sir!” Ed replied quickly, turning back to Oswald quickly. “I suppose I have to go. You wouldn’t happen to be available later? I… I could make us dinner, if you’d like. If you eat dinner, I mean.”

“I eat dinner,” Oswald answered, raising an eyebrow as he smiled.

“Good, good. The address is eight-o-five Grundy street.”

“Then, I guess I’ll be there at eight-o-five,” Oswald joked dryly, tapping his cane. Ed eyed it wearily, obviously understanding its significance, before glancing up again with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll see you then. Now, I’d better skedaddle, before my boss threatens to suspend me again.” Oswald snorted as he watched Ed hurry away, turning back at the last minute to wave before disappearing into one of the rooms.

Ed was certainly peculiar, even for an angel. Oswald found himself intrigued by him, wanting to know if the fallen one has been as changed by his time on earth as Oswald himself has. But, mostly, Oswald wanted a friend, a true friend. A man he could trust to walk beside him in the dark. 

Death was destruction, not corruption, he could never hope to lead the righteous man down a more crooked path, Gordon must choose that path himself, and he would; Oswald was sure of it. But Ed was already ‘disgraced’, as it were, just as hated as Oswald for a role in the universe that neither one chose for themselves.

But here they were, in the same city after Fate herself had brought them together (admittedly unintentionally). 

What could be more perfect? 

♠ ♠ ♠

Oswald waited until precisely the moment his internal clock told him it was five minutes past eight before he knocked on Ed’s door. The metallic door slid away in a matter of moments, revealing an ecstatic expression and fluttering wings.

“I should have expected you to be right on time!” He laughed. “As they say; Death is nothing but punctual.”

Oswald chuckled. “True.” He took the opportunity to look Edward up and down. To his surprise, the fallen one actually seemed to have put effort into what he was wearing, forgoing the drab, grey jacket Oswald had commented on earlier for an emerald green sweater with a light green check shirt beneath and a burgundy tie. Not exactly Oswald’s clothing of choice, but it certainly seemed to match the dorky character Ed wore.

Oswald had never met anyone quite like him.

“Please, come in!” Ed encouraged, stepping back to make room. Oswald stepped through, moving so Ed could close the door behind him. He looked around the apartment, a smile rising to his lips unbidden as he noted all of the knick-knacks and tiny details. It had a human quality to it, despite the multitude of wardings painted across the walls in glowing green.

“Dinner should be ready in a couple of minutes,” Ed told him. “Until then, can I interest you in a beverage?”

“What do you have?” Oswald asked.

“I-I have Merlot, o-or pinot noir, or-” Ed listed.

“Pinot noir, I think,” Oswald requested. Ed bowed his head slightly, shuffling off into the kitchen.

It astonished Oswald how the fallen one had managed to fit his entire existence into such a small apartment. The bedroom, living room, kitchen and dining area were all situated between the same four walls. Oswald wondered how Edward had managed to maintain such a tiresome existence on the day-to-day.

“Here you go,” Ed announced, coming back with a glass shaped like a beaker filled with the wine in his hand. “P-please, sit.”

Oswald allowed himself to be directed to the small dining table set in the corner, choosing a seat facing the room rather than the window. Oswald situated his cane under his chair, the heel of his shoe resting on it to reassure him of its continued presence. A bell pinged and Oswald watched in amusement as Ed zipped away into the kitchen. It took mere moments before Ed reappeared, holding two delicious smelling dishes.

“I didn't know what you would like,” Ed apologized. “So I just made something I've done before.”

Oswald stared at the Cannelloni, licking his lips at the enticing scent.

“This will be perfectly acceptable, thank you, friend,” Oswald told him seriously, allowing a small smile to cross his lips. He chuckled inwardly as he saw Ed's face flush scarlet.

“Good,” Ed replied shortly, his twitching lips portraying his eagerness as he sat down in the seat opposite Oswald's.

It turned out that the Cannelloni tasted as good as it smelt, Oswald complimenting Ed and delighting when his blush deepened. Ed, in turn, asked about the human food Oswald had enjoyed in all his years on Earth, leading them to a conversation about all the different countries they'd travelled to and how they'd changed over the centuries.

“So, before you came to Gotham, where did reside?” Oswald asked, finally setting down his fork as he took another sip oF wine.

“I toured Europe for a while,” Ed answered. “Mainly France, I loved the artistry. But when the first WORLD war came and went, I thought it best to leave for calmer waters. And I came here.”

“To Gotham?” Oswald clarified.

“Exactly,” Ed nodded his agreement. “Gotham's my home now. It's not what I'd thought I would love, but…”

“There's something about it,” Oswald finished for him with a smirk, leaning in closer. “Gunfire and smoke, danger in every back alley and evil hiding in plain sight. Doesn’t seem very calm to me.”

“But where else should the angel of destruction and Death himself preside?” Ed questioned, smiling back as he raised his glass. Oswald's smirk grew as their glasses clinked, swallowing the sweet wine while maintaining Ed's gaze.

“What about you?” Ed asked. “Where were you before Gotham?”

“For a long time, I was in Europe too, Hungary specifically,” Oswald answered.

“Alone?” Ed questioned, and perhaps things were getting too personal, too intimate as Ed leant in even closer, but Oswald made no move to stop him.

“Actually, I have a mother. She was my vessel’s, _Oswald’s_ , but,” Oswald shrugged, “She seems to have adopted me as her own.”

“She doesn’t mind that you… Took her son away?” Ed questioned incredulously.

“No. But I suppose getting to see him helps with that. They both get one day a year to see each other: Gertrude’s birthday,” Oswald took a bite off his fork, “It was part of the deal.”

“You made a deal and kept it? After all these years?” Ed asked.

“Of course,” Oswald confirmed. “Against popular human belief, promises are meant to be _kept_ , not broken. Besides, what’s one day a year to a being like me? I was here the day the Earth was born, and I’ll be here until the day it dies.”

Ed stared at him for a long minute, Oswald quirking his browed bemusedly at him as he continued to swallow his wine. “You… You are far nicer than people give you credit for.”

“Thank you,” Oswald said, smirking down at his empty plate as he took another sip, effectively finishing his glass of wine.

“No, truly,” Oswald looked up as Ed’s hand took his own, frowning at his imploring expression. “Everybody thinks you’re so cold because they only ever get to touch your hands. They don’t see _this_.” 

Oswald gasped as Ed’s hand drifted, pressing through Oswald’s vessel to rest against his true-form’s chest, the dark power there surging like a stuttering heartbeat. Ed looked up at him, eyes wide with what could only be awe, and something heated and lost reared its head in Oswald’s chest, hopeless and unexplainable. “Your power radiates from you like heat from the sun. And yet people shiver as you walk by. It’s… _fascinating_.”

Oswald cocked his head, furrowing his brow. “What a mystery you make.”

“And, I bet, they haven’t noticed the warmth radiating from other places too.” Ed’s hand pulled out of Oswald’s skin, leaving his true-form. It rested in Oswald’s knee, caressing the fabric there slowly before moving higher and higher, Oswald’s breath catching in his throat. “I bet they don’t know how _hot_ you are right here, between your thighs. Or here,” Ed hissed, Oswald gaping as he felt Ed’s hand slide up to press against the fabric over his crotch, his cock twitching in its confines at the touch. “I bet they want to know. But, they don’t.”

“Who would’ve thought,” Oswald mused shakily, “that I would ever be seduced by Azazel, the fallen angel himself.”

“It’s only seduction if it’s working,” Ed informed him. “Is it working?”

“Oh, I definitely think so.”

Their lips crashed together like two opposing forces, the aftermath leaving Oswald groaning. 

“You are very human-like in your expressions. Did you know that?” Ed breathed against his lips, Oswald helping him as he situated himself onto Oswald’s lap.

“In case you didn’t notice,” Oswald replied between fierce kisses, “I was on Earth from the beginning. You came after.” Ed hummed, clearly more focused on trailing tiny nips down Oswald’s throat, making his spine ignite. “Although, you yourself have taken on some very human qualities.”

“How so?” Ed asked, looking up from his task curiously.

“This apartment for one. It isn’t for appearance’s sake, for ‘playing the part’, you actually live here, everything you own is in this apartment,” Oswald observed.

“So, you’re telling me you have a secret stash of stuff somewhere?” Ed mumbled against his skin as he got back to work.

“I procured the Van Dahl estate shortly after arriving in Gotham. For appearance’s sake, I maintain the image that I live with my mother in a tiny apartment off Brocot Avenue, but I think of the Manor as home,” Oswald told him.

“Hmm, yes, very interesting, but no more speaking, please, there are more important issues at hand,” Ed murmured, lips brushing Oswald’s jugular.

Oswald rolled his eyes. Edward might have been an angel at some point but that didn’t stop Oswald from seeing him as very, very small compared to the thousands upon thousands of lifetimes he’s seen. Still, Oswald loved to be worshipped.

“Tell me, Ed,” Oswald began, resting his hands on the fallen one’s shoulders. “Have you ever been with another angel?”

Ed attempted to straighten his spine, but Oswald kept him firmly in place. “N-no, I haven’t,” Ed stuttered, snaking a hand up to push his glasses further up his nose.

“Have you ever been with a human, then?” Oswald asked, staring down at Ed to make sure he wasn’t lying.

“N-no, sir,” Ed answered. _Sir_. Oswald liked that.

“Have you ever been with… anyone?” Oswald asked, stroking his hands down Ed’s shoulders to cup his biceps.

“N-no.” Oswald cocked his head. “ _Sir._ ”

“Good,” Oswald purred, letting go of Ed’s arms to tap his forefinger against the top button of Ed’s shirt. “I get you all to myself.” He began to undo the buttons, leaning forward to lick and suck at Ed’s skin as each inch was revealed.

“Th-that’s a bit p-possessive, isn’t it?” Ed gasped, head tipping back.

“I’m am Death himself, Edward,” Oswald said, drawing back to look him sternly in the eye. “I have the ability to kill everyone in this city instantaneously should the need arise. Your life, and the lives of everyone you’ve ever met rest in my hands. Therefore…” Ed gasped, placing a hand on Oswald’s chest, his gaze awestruck as it met Oswald’s from behind his glasses.

“I belong to you,” Ed finished breathlessly.

“Exactly,” Oswald growled. “And I take what’s mine.” Oswald pushed at his shoulders, guiding the fallen one across the room until he tipped back onto the bed, looking dazedly up at him as Oswald crawled over his body, grinning down at him.

And, finally, Edward surrendered himself to Oswald’s hands, caving under Oswald’s searching hands, hips canting and eyelashes fluttering as Oswald mapped out every area that would make Ed lose his mind. Oswald tilted his head, observing how Edward’s wings batted against the bed covers, even his true-self at Oswald’s mercy.

“May I touch your wings?” Oswald asked, curiosity pulling at him as he observed the jagged feathers.

“Y-yes,” Ed nodded, “Sir.”

Oswald smiled at the fallen one’s memory, bringing his hand through the veil so he could stoke the feathered limbs. They were battered, dirty and slightly burnt in places, all because of the fall. Most of all, they were neglected and uncared for, as if Edward had simply given up on them a long time ago.

“I don’t care what the other angels say,” Oswald hissed fiercely. “I don’t care about your wrong-doings or your sins. You deserve to be saved.”

“Oswald- _Ah!_ ” Oswald pushed his power through his fingers, concentrating the dark depletion into rejuvenation, light pouring into the room that could blind any human if they were to observe it. Scraggly, black feathers lengthened and repaired themselves, Oswald watching on with an edge of self-satisfaction as the black seeped away to be replaced by dazzling green, lighter than peppermint at the top and reaching almost black at the tips.

“How did you-” Oswald looked up, meeting Ed’s stunned gaze.

“I want you to know that I’ll take care of you, Edward,” Oswald told him, stroking a hand down the soft feathers, delighting in the way they shivered at the touch.

“S-Sensitive,” Ed gasped, clamping a hand down on Oswald’s shoulder.

“I’ll be gentle,” Oswald promised, his touch delicate and tender as he combed through the feathers with his fingers. “How long has it been since your wings have been touched, Edward?” he asked.

“Millennia,” Ed replied, eyelashes fluttering. “Only my closest siblings ever… and it was never like this.”

“Let me groom you, Edward,” Oswald murmured. “I want to groom you.”

Ed whined, his head nodding eagerly, his voice presumably failing him. Oswald helped him carefully remove his glasses, watching his wings spread out along the bed, the tips dragging on the floor with each small movement.

“I’ve never done this, Ed,” Oswald admitted, watching Ed’s wings twitch with what he hoped was excitement.

“I’ll tell you how,” Ed assured him.

“I bet you will,” Oswald smiled, looking Ed up and down appreciatively. “A fallen Angel like you surely knows a lot of things.”

“Tut tut, Mr Penguin,” Ed admonished, wrapping his arms around Oswald’s neck. “Haven’t you heard that gambling is a sin?”

“I’d better atone quickly, then. I can hardly be here with you if I’m stuck down in Hell for eternity.”

“I bet you’d walk right up to the cage and spit in Lucifer’s face,” Ed whispered, reverence in his expression like Oswald was the one true deity. Oswald shivered with it, raking his fingers down Ed’s wing and watching the grassy feathers slip back into place like the sludge rivers of purgatory. Ed tipped his head back with a groan, the curling ends of his hair no doubt fizzing up even more as a result.

“Please-” Ed huffed, his heaving chest brushing Oswald’s with every inhale, “-whatever you do, _don’t stop._ ”

“Like you could try and stop me,” Oswald sneered, licking a line up Ed’s throat as his fingers twisted in the feathers. Ed moaned in response, his fingernails scraping against Oswald’s back in his desperation. Oswald’s true-self sparked with electricity, and he moved to bury his face in Ed’s feathers, the need for both their true-selves to stay in contact too great to deny.

“You’re beautiful,” Oswald told him, fingers stroking through the feathers. “Don’t deny what is clear to my eyes,” he ordered sharply as he felt Ed’s mouth open in protest. “I have visited the dark mountains and shining craters of faraway moons; I knew true beauty, and it is you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I am the highest authority left in this realm. They will all answer to me in the end.”

“You wish to play God?” Ed asked, the breathless tone to his voice still present.

“Am I not already? In the end, I decide who lives and dies, I command their souls’ destination. I am in complete control. God doesn’t interfere,” Oswald said, strong in his resolve. “Hush now, Angel. Let me give you what you want.” Oswald twisted his fingers further in Ed feathers, tugging _just so_ to make him cry out.

“What-” Ed panted, “What about what _you_ want?” 

“What I want,” Oswald mused, drawing tiny circles in the pattern of Ed’s wings, out and out, nearing the tips. “-is to make you cry out in pleasure, and tremble when you lose control. I want to be the one who made you that way.” 

“Still possessive, I see,” Ed pointed out, voice shaky and detrimental like a flight of stairs during an earthquake.

“Unapologetically so,” Oswald agreed, skimming Ed’s feathers back into place with firm hands. He paused as he felt the feathers grow wet closer to the base, a smirk curling his lips as he recognised the texture for what it was. Leaning down, he ran the flat of his tongue against the oil-slickened feathers, humming appreciatively at the taste.

“Oh my God!” Edward groaned, moving his hands to bury his face in them.

“Stop!” Oswald commanded, an added roll of thunder added to his voice. “I will not have you be ashamed of your reactions, especially those resulting from the wings that _I_ gifted you. If you cover your face again, I will have no choice but to chain your hands to the bedpost until you learn true restraint.”

“Well, maybe, you could chain me up anyway,” Ed suggested, his tone both cheeky and breathless.

“Yes,” Oswald purred, “but not today.”

“What-what _will_ you do with me, then?” Ed asked, obligingly moving his arms back to their original position.

Oswald hummed thoughtfully, raking his gaze down Ed’s aroused features, looking further into the face that laid beneath, the creature’s true features singed and burnt black in places. He was all the more beautiful because of it, a perfect imperfection Oswald craved. And then there was the shining light of Ed’s soul coursing through his body, that dip into humanity that made him captivating beyond extreme. Ed was a combination of wonders.

“I think I will fuck your soul into the stratosphere and claim it as my own,” Oswald whispered, his left hand lifting to drag through Ed’s hair while the other continued to card through his feathers. “No one would touch you, no one would hurt you, no one would reap you. You’d be mine forever.” Oswald cocked his head, looking into Ed’s eyes as his left hand burned through his body to stroke his soul, eliciting a starlight gasp from Ed. “Do you want to be mine, Edward? For I will be yours as well. There will be no other, should you choose to accept or decline. You’re the only one I want.”

Ed’s eyes had grown glassy, his breaths strained as his human body trying to comprehend the alien feeling of Oswald’s hand on his soul.

“You may say no, Edward, but I need an answer.”

“Yes,” Ed hissed, eyes wide as a tears spilt down his cheeks. Oswald felt something within him soften, his expression gentling along with it.

“Again?” he asked, bending to kiss Ed’s brow, their true-selves pressing there also.

“Yes,” Ed repeated, hands coming up to grip Oswald's hair.

“Again?” Oswald moved lower, pressing his lips to a spot on Ed’s neck and breathing in the life essence held there.

“Yes.” Oswald moved back up, pressing his lips to Ed’s firmly, deep like an ocean trench. His true-self curled around Ed’s while Ed’s wings wrapped around his back. They sheltered each other from the outside world of dysfunction and disgrace, sharing both their darkness and light as they bared their souls. The room filled with their colours, dancing across the floorboard in a waltz, but Oswald was too captivated by the taste of Edward’s lips to notice.

“I want you already,” Ed whimpered, their lips brushing together.

“Then you shall have me,” Oswald promised, “Your wishes will be mine to dote on.”

“Yours too,” Ed gasped. “Anything for you, I swear, _anything_.”

“You feel so much already?” Oswald asked. “I thought that I was the only one who…”

“I saw you and I knew,” Ed told him. “No one in any realm, dimension or world could ever make me soar the way you did; the way you _do_.”

“Is this how it feels to dream, Edward? Nothing seems quite real, but everything is in focus at once,” Oswald gasped.

“Please, Oswald,” Ed pleaded, the words engraving Oswald’s true-self, marking him. “I need you.”

“Yes.” Clothes are just molecules, and Oswald removes what fabric remains instantly, casting the garments to a corner of the room without thought.

“Faster, I can’t-” Ed begged. Oswald understood his urgency, the need to consummate their bond, to sear what little soul they had to one another.

“Next time, I will take you apart until you’re shaking at my every touch, I’ll refill you so you’ve come again and again until you lose count,” Oswald promised. “But now is not the time.” Not waiting for a reply when he knew Ed could barely speak, Oswald pushed his power through his fingertips, readying the man for him instantly. His soul didn’t need such treatment, yet Oswald still sent a spark of pleasure to it just to see Ed’s spasming muscles and the way his eyes rolled back into his skull.

“Not too much?” Oswald asked as he focused on getting himself ready.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Ed moaned. Oswald wouldn’t dream of it. Oswald positioned himself, biting his tongue and he forcing himself to move slow as he pushed against Ed’s entrance. To his immense relief, Oswald’s preparations seemed to have worked, and Ed’s rim gave way easily.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ed cried. Oswald moved his hands to Ed’s hips, still rubbing against Ed’s soul as he pushed himself all the way in. Ed made a choked off noise, and Oswald looked up in mild concern only to be met with the delectable picture of a blissed-out Edward. Oswald focused his eyes to concentrate through the veil, continuing the movement of his hips even so. It seemed Ed’s mind had been drawn into this dimension rather than the other, focussed on the spiritual rather than the physical. Ed had said it had be a millennia since his true self had been touched, and it saddened Oswald to even think about. Angels weren’t made to be untouched, their grace called for bonds, for unity from others of their kind. It was why so many fallen had perished through the ages; they had nothing and no one to hold onto. Yet this angel had survived, and Oswald admiration for that was enough to fill the Medusa Cascade and more.

Oswald began to move properly, each twist or shift of his body or his true-self encouraged by Ed’s babbling brook noises, or the wings pressing against Oswald’s back, or the light screaming from Ed's throat. Oswald poured his own light out, a murky mix of the brightest white and the blackest of blacks, the vibrant green of Ed twisted around it, dancing and mixing.

“Almost there,” Oswald whispered, but whether he was referencing their bond or his impending orgasm was hard to say. Ed held him tight, two dimensions curling around each other. Oswald just hoped Ed would be ready to let go.

“It’s time,” he whispered at last. Without hesitation, he poured the rest of his true-self out with a scream, Ed following him, while their vessels shook and succumbed to the throes of their passion. They combined in a chemical reaction, heated oxygen and kindling igniting into a perfect flame. They caressed one another, leaving marks on every exposed inch of light, colouring each other, changing each other. It was more glorious than Oswald had ever imagined-.

Only when every open spot of one another had been claimed did they allow themselves to drift back down, falling into their strung-out bodies with contented sighs.

“Your mine now, Ed,” Oswald whispered, taking one of Ed’s hands and planting a sweet kiss on his knuckles.

“I’ve always wanted to belong,” Ed whispered back.

They fell asleep entangled in each other’s selves and arms; exactly where they belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay? Was that good? I don't know. Feels like a weird ass mind fuck, but oh well, I hope y'all enjoyed it. As per norm, any and all kudos/comments are greatly appreciated and hoarded like a dragon's treasure :)
> 
> EDIT:
> 
> There is now, almost inexplicably, beautiful fanart for this fic, drawn by the lovely @[merryandrewsworld](https://merryandrewsworld.tumblr.com/). You can see it [here](http://zebrashavestripes.tumblr.com/post/176084263662/zebrashavestripes-for-dear-writer-this-was) and [here](http://zebrashavestripes.tumblr.com/post/176116227442/his-true-self-curled-around-eds-while-eds)


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